Good Bye
by kittyonnails
Summary: Written after the prose style of Yasunari Kawabata's palm-of-the-hand stories; A horrific earthquake hit's Tokyo and Akane is one of very few survivors


GOOD-BYE

Ranma½ fanfiction

By Kittyonnails  
  
The girl is sitting on a swing in the park. She concentrates on the creaks of the metal as she inched forward and back. She feels as if she is simply floating above the sand, without the aid of the swing. The cool plastic presses itself into her legs, numbing them. Her breath leaves little clouds in the January air. Each one floating upwards while dissolving into the cool air. She doesn't even notice the clashing of blood against her new green dress as she lets her short black hair fall into her eyes, getting stuck in the small cuts that mark her youthful face. She watches the cloud of breath; as it dissolves, the memories rush back.  
  
The whole house shakes as if the entire island of Honshu were sinking into the ocean on the whim of some evil sea kami. Everyone reacts to the earthquake, finding stable spots in the house. The shaking continues for much longer than usual. The instant it stops a sound more horrible and morbid rushes to meet here ears. A little at first, then large chunks, faster and faster; the ceiling begins to fall. He turns and shoves her through the paper screen door and into the garden.  
  
A single tear wells up in her right eye. Like a liquid diamond, it slowly follows the path of so many before it down her bloodstained face. She takes another small breath. The cloud dissolves.  
  
Blood and dust. A moaning sound. She pushes aside the beam to reveal a bloody corpse. Someone in the distance shouts. The sound rings in her ears. It echoes through her. A piteous cry of despair. "No!, No! I never had the time to say anything, anything at all. No! Come back! We haven't said I love you yet! You can't die! I love you! You idiot, I love you! Come back!" The voice continues begging and pleading with all that is holy. Panting, the girl looks down at the body and realizes that it is her own voice, crying out. Her own love, lying dead at her feet. Her knees go out and she collapses next to his body, calling his name. Again and again, pleading. She cradles his head in her lap. His blood flows slowly down her dress from the gaping wound on the back of his head. Her tears fall down and join the crimson blood as it soaks into the dusty ground, coloring it.  
  
The ground shudders. She grasps the chain of the swing for balance. Aftershock, her mind automatically tells her. Another icy cloud of snowy-white translucent breath rises to her face.  
  
She hears a quiet moaning; the voice belonging to her sister. The ground shudders and the voice is silenced. An overwhelming loneliness washes over her. She backs away from the scene and stands up, running, faster, faster, trying to escape. Breathless, she rests on the swing.  
  
Now, a figure is approaching, lone and distant. It is dusk now. Her memories are only hours old, young in her mind. The blood has dried, but her memories remain wet. Death, why should they escape without her? She could have lived without one of them, but they have all left her in a single moment. Her father, teary-eyed, but mischievous; her sisters, kind and smart; her love, inconsiderate and kind, shy and outgoing. Perfect in every way. Why didn't she see it? She had delighted in pointing out his faults, a childish game. They spent all their time together like that. Her father had arranged their marriage. From their joint resistance, friendship and then love had grown. More time. If they had only been given more time. Happiness had been within reach. Now he is dead. They are all dead. She was all alone.  
  
The figure is closer now. With another sighing breath she raises her head for a better look. She slowly begins to recognize the girl. Her vision blurs with memory.  
  
The girl is waiting tables in a small restaurant. She is Chinese. She looks up and gives the victory sign.  
  
The Chinese girl is standing next to her. She wraps a blanket around the girl's shoulders, but it provides no warmth. Only the feeling of rough fabric against her bare arms. "Come inside." The Chinese girl suggests. She doesn't want to go, but she hasn't the strength to argue. They walk five blocks together, passing numerous other scenes of horror and tragedy. The girl is both deaf and blind to them all.  
  
The high school auditorium is where they end their journey. A sturdier building that hasn't suffered the damage most have. Pitifully, the battery-powered lamps try to devour the oncoming night. They cannot reach the high rafters of the celing. There might been no sheltering roof at all for all that can be seen of it. The room is scattered with futons and blankets. Doctors treating the wounded and children crying fill the room with life, yet the despair is overwhelming. The Chinese girl leads her to an empty futon and another girl. The other girl's arm is bandaged and bound in a pale-blue cotton sling. The girl with the bandage seems familiar and as she moves to sit next to her on the futon, a name rises out of the mistiness of her memories. She says it in one short breath, two syllables. The girl with the bandaged arm turns toward her, "Yes?" She looks at the bandage on the girl's arm. He is dead, her mind reminds her, not allowing her to forget it with memories of better times. They were good friends, he and this girl with her arm all tied up. She hears a voice speak her name, followed by another reminder the he is gone from her life. The sound of his name, spoken, renews her tears and her large eyes overflow. She leans on the girl's un-bandaged shoulder and cries, deep and hard.  
  
The girl is walking down the hall of her home. She turns and plops down the stairs, seeing her older sister in the engawa she breaks into a run. She runs past her father, playing Go with a friend, past the kitchen and out into the garden. High in the plum tree she hears a rustling. Her eyes follow gnarled trunk skywards and rest on the form of a teenage boy, picking the ripe fruit. The ground shakes with a thunderous noise and she spins to face the rubble behind her. Like thick syrup, deep scarlet blood wells up and swallows the remains. Blackness burning bright light. A dream.  
  
Now it is what day? Tuesday. The Chinese girl rushes over from a far corner. "You want eat something?" she asks in her high pitched and thickly accented speech. Slowly the girl nods. She must be hungry, she hasn't eaten since yesterday morning. The Chinese girl returns with a bowl of noodles in broth. She focuses her attention on the chopsticks and lifts a thin slice of fish sausage to her lips. The hot food has no flavor, no substance, but she finishes the noodles quickly. The girl with the bandaged arm sits next to her. "They found your family yesterday, in the rubble." The girl takes a deep breath to stop the flood of memories, determined to face the words. She nods passively, as if she doesn't care. Yet her heart is beating like a bird's, every ounce of her being begging and pleading for her to say that any one of them is all right. She doesn't. She is again offering a comforting shoulder to cry on, but the girl refuses. Instead she looks upwards, here daylight has proven the existence of the rafters. Her jaw set, the girl turns to her new friend. "Will you be my second?" The girl asks, probing into the bandaged girl's dark brown eyes, "Will you help me?" Astonishment flashes across the face of the other girl, then it is replaced by pitiful understanding. "I just can't say good-bye to all of them, not all of them." A weak and scared smile spreads across the face of the girl with the arm-bandage. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?" With a tearful gulp followed by a determined stare, she replies. "I'll be waiting for you. They're all waiting for me." The two girls leave the school solemnly.  
  
At sunset, one returns, holding a knife in her free hand. The Chinese girl approaches her, "Where she?" The girl with the bandaged arm bites her tongue and takes a sharp breath, "She went back, to be with all of them." The Chinese girl nods understandingly. They both understand why she had to go back. She could have never said "good-bye" without first saying "I love you."


End file.
